


Under the Gaze of Moonlight (In a Silver-Struck Kiss)

by ohmygoshwhatascream



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage, Post canon, Post-marriage, Soft Sokka (Avatar), Soft Zuko (Avatar), They're just utterly besotted with one another, copious uses of metaphors, like they're just very in love, princess yue is their biggest supporter, you know its love when the moon ships you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26018392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmygoshwhatascream/pseuds/ohmygoshwhatascream
Summary: Under the silver grace of moonlight, Zuko nestles into Sokka's side. The breeze is cold but Zuko finds he does not mind so much when Sokka's fingers slot into his own.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 19
Kudos: 231





	Under the Gaze of Moonlight (In a Silver-Struck Kiss)

**Author's Note:**

> I finished watching atla for the first time like 4 days ago and i had to write something!
> 
> This is my first fic for the fandom, so i hope its okay! I have a longer fic I've been working on but this idea caught me and i just had to write it,,, this really isn't one of my best pieces but i hope you guys enjoy nonetheless x

Zuko returns to his chambers to find the lights dimmed low and the balcony windows flung open. His skin prickles, goosebumps rising where the draft of midnight wind rustles his silken curtains, shifting the fabric of his intricate robes. 

In the silver of moonlight, his clothes shimmer in a mix of silver and gold; like the sun and the moon caught between layers of silk and velvet and ermine. Blue thread intertwines with red, the traditional colours of both fire and water melding together as one - night and day combined, two opposites slotting together as though they were always meant to be. Of peace and prosperity, it says to the world. Of happiness, it says to Zuko.

As he slips through his bedroom, his bare feet gliding across the floor as if he is floating, (he certainly feels light enough to float, happy enough to  _ soar)  _ he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. 

His hair hangs about him in intricate braids, gold and silver beads adorning the delicate strands that wrap around his usual topknot. Like stars, jewels glint brightly in the darkness of his hair, like pearls strung across the black-sand beaches, he shimmers under the swell of moonlight. _Ethereal_ , he appears, for today has been nothing short of a dream.

He's never been one for vanity, never thought of himself as  _ attractive, _ but he cannot help the smile he gives his reflection, the quirk of his lips that show just the barest hint of his teeth. Even his scar looks softer like this; the flesh he had always considered  _ ruined, _ the mark that had once felt like a curse writ across his face, seems soft. Gentle. The puckered edges, the rough skin; for the first time in his memory, he looks at his face and does not shy away. Perhaps it is the events of today that have made him so light, so carefree. Perhaps it is the sight of his clothes, the necklace that adorns his neck; proof of a sacred partnership. Or perhaps, after all this time, he has forgiven. 

He has forgiven his past, forgiven his father. Not forgotten, not excused, but forgiveness can mean many things.  _ Forgiveness, _ to him, is the ability to remember what has happened, but to  _ let it go. _ To accept the darkest shadows of his life, but to not let them consume him, to not let them darken his future. 

He does not think he will ever have a kind word for his father, and while he will always feel contempt; he will not let such emotion control him. It is there, always, but Zuko will let Ozai's memory become just that. A memory. 

He is finding that, as life goes on, he is making new memories. More and more, with each passing day. The ones he already has do not change, the good ones remain just as bright and the bad ones still  _ hurt, _ but there are more now. More light, more happiness, that he uses to banish the darkness. The gardens of his memory are charred, scarred and cracked and broken, but he has planted new seeds. Saplings that, soon, will sprout and flower. 

He has come to accept that the scars will always be there, that they will never truly leave, but the ground will blossom with daffodils and primroses; his garden will shine out in the spectrum of dragon-fire and the scars will become harder and harder to see; less noticeable with each new daisy and every little clover. 

And this day, the one he has spent smiling until his cheeks ached, (and even then he had not stopped) is proof that he can shape his own future. His destiny continues to be  _ his, _ and he has never been happier. 

So he draws his eyes away from his reflection, continues the path through his bed-chambers, fingers tugging on the layers of blue and red that adorn his body in water and flame, (he is still in half-wonderment that this day even happened at all) and he spies a familiar silhouette stood outside on the balcony. Rubbing his wrists, feeling the thin lining of foreign fur on the innards of his sleeves, he steps out into the moonlight. 

It is colder out here, he is no longer protected by the warmed heat of his chambers and his clothes - for all their finery - are thin. (Days in the Fire Nation were notoriously hot, and these clothes were designed with a day of dancing under firelight in mind, not sitting outside in the cold of night) He comes to rest his arms over the bannister of the balcony, mirroring the pose of the man standing beside him. 

Involuntarily, a shiver runs through him and - under the silvery guise of moonlight - the thin hairs on his exposed wrists rise to a stand. 

An arm is wrapped clumsily around his shoulders, the skin warm and strong, lined with thick muscle and uneven with the pale trails of scars. The touch is soft, gentle. Like the grace of moonlight over their faces, it is something sacred, something that should be treasured. 

He leans into such touch without even having to think about it. The gesture is one that has been done a million times before. Not always here, not always out on a balcony that holds the view of the entire Fire Nation, so small and tiny that it appears like a dolls house from such a height. But no matter where they have been, whether they have been on the back of a mountainous flying bison or rocked over the tumultuous waves of the southern seas; whether they have been warming their fingers on cups of steaming jasmine tea or sat in the study with complicated plans for aqueducts and canals strewn around them in chaos, they have always been sat under the same sky. 

The same stars have always looked down from above. The same sun, the same moon. 

"Who would have thought it? Fire Lord Zuko, marrying the Water Tribe peasant from the south." The moment is broken as Zuko lets out an undignified snort. He digs his elbows into Sokka's ribs, snorting louder when Sokka lets out a high pitched yelp. The arm is withdrawn from around his shoulder and Sokka's expression is comically bruised as he rubs at his attacked side. 

"Hey! I'm just saying! What will all those stuffy nobles be saying about  _ this-"  _ Sokka wafts his hands between the two of them, gesturing to their matching outfits of red and blue - the perfect blend of both Water Tribe and Fire Nation tradition. "The great Prince Zuko slumming it with the savages." Sokka laughs, but Zuko can only wince at the phrasing. 

The words hit too close to home. The war has been over for a decade now, but there is still a lot that needs changing. The Fire Nation's customs are old fashioned, built upon hierarchy and class - Zuko has never cared for it, but he has  _ heard _ what choice individuals have said about Sokka behind his back, (and sometimes to his face) what they have said about the nature of their relationship. 

"Sorry," Sokka's apology is swift and genuine, his expression softening as he gathers Zuko's hands in his own. "I took that too far."

Zuko shakes his head, squeezes Sokka's hands in his own. (Their hands are rough, calloused, yet like this; Zuko has never felt anything softer) "It's fine. I just- I wish people wouldn't treat you like that, we've already done so much yet there's still so much more I need to do-"

Sokka cuts him off with a quick kiss, just barely a brush of their lips, but it's enough to derail Zuko's trail of thought. 

"No talking about work on our wedding night!" He admonishes, his blue eyes bright, his smile only slight but no less blinding. 

"You can worry about making the Fire Nation happy tomorrow, right now you should be worrying about  _ me, _ " Sokka gives him a frankly awful wink, magnified by the ridiculous wiggling of his eyebrows.

Zuko rolls his eyes, shakes his head, but he can already feel his cheeks aching again. "Shut up. I don't know why I married you." 

Sokka laughs at that, deep and loud and rumbling, one that has Zuko's heart fluttering like a nightingale in his chest. His feels suspiciously weak at the knees and his face has grown embarrassingly hot, but when Sokka wraps his arms around his waist and Zuko tangles his fingers into his hair, he takes a small measure of pride in the way Sokka's hands tremble against his skin. 

It's nice to know that they're _both_ just as ridiculously besotted with one another.

"Because you love me," Sokka says with a chuckle, and Zuko instinctively buries his face into the crook of Sokka's collarbone, breathing in deeply. They're pretty much the same height, so Zuko ends up hunching himself over and Sokka ends up tilting his head backwards to accommodate, it's awkward and uncomfortable but neither one of them care. Zuko can feel Sokka's breaths, deep and even, like a warm breeze through his hair and he sighs at the little circles Sokka traces into his hips with the tips of his fingers, soft and gentle and sweet. 

"I do," Zuko mumbles, getting a mouth full of silk (not that he really minds) before pulls away, expression serious, as he cups Sokka's face in his hands. His thumbs swipe over the sharp angles of his cheekbones, his fingers coming to rest in the rough thatch of his beard. With his eyes focused on Sokka's own, the gold of sunlight staring into the sky of blue, he feels his heart soar. 

"I love you so much." 

Sokka kisses him, littering hundreds of kisses on each and every part of Zuko's face. On his forehead, on his eyebrows, he places his lips against the edges of Zuko's scar, on his eyelids and the tip of his nose. His cheeks, snaking down to his lips. Each and every kiss is punctuated with a word, 

"I love you," he says, over and over again. The sentiments fall from his mouth freely, escape his lips with such ease; as though he was born to do this. It comes to him as naturally as breathing, and again and again, Sokka repeats those three words, stringing in compliment after compliment, kiss after kiss, until it all blurs together in a mishmash of light and it isn't long until Zuko finds himself laughing, returning Sokka's kisses with just as much fervour and his own lips repeating those same three words. 

"You're the best husband I've ever had," Sokka says, breathless against his lips. Zuko laughs again, gently slaps him on the arm, gives him a pinch on the wrist. "I'm the only husband you've ever had." 

Sokka nods, his eyes alight. "Yeah. I know. And you're the best." 

And then they're back to kissing, Zuko's hands clutching at Sokka's front; fingers bunching in the silken fabric, tugging at the red and gold panels that adorn his robes.  _ He looks good in red and gold.  _

_ He looks good in everything. _

His hands reach up to tangle in Sokka's hair, fingers trailing up and down the shaven sides, reaching up to trace the pads of his fingers against the adornment decorating the intricate bun he was wearing in place of his simple wolf-tail. The headpiece was not dissimilar to Zuko's own, the proof for all to see that - whether they liked it or not - Sokka was his husband. It was not gold, however, but silver; and the intricately carved flames stemmed from a crescent moon, like a woven blend of both the night and day. 

"I can't believe we're actually married," Zuko whispers resting his forehead against Sokka's.

"We're  _ husbands, _ " he continues. 

Sokka huffs out a laugh."Yeah," his expression is fond. "That's usually what marriage entails." 

With a flush, Zuko offers a mock-scowl. "I know that, but we're  _ husbands. _ "

" _ Husbands,"  _ Sokka echoes, his voice shifting into something almost dreamlike, his eyes misty and gentle. 

The full moon above them seems to glow even brighter and silver dances across Sokka's tan skin like glitter. The light envelops them, leaving their bodies dusted with blue, their hands intertwined until it cannot be said where either one of them starts or ends. They shimmer in the night, glowing like spirits themselves as one by one the lit-up streets in the Fire Nation begin to fade, each lamp and house dimming as the night drags on.

Sokka turns to look up at the moon; something which should be cold, like steel and silver and the ice-peaks of the south pole. Yet instead, its gaze is warm; comforting. It dances across them like a smile, and Zuko swears he can see tan skin, a woman's face warm like the sun with hair of brilliant white. 

A sense of peace, of contentedness, seems to thrum through the very air. 

"She's happy," Sokka says, his eyes so big and wide as he stares up at the moon, his eyes tracing the invisible shadows of a girl who cannot be seen. 

"Do you miss her?" Zuko asks, and he swears he can hear the sound of laughter in the midnight air, like windchimes - a tinkling tune that sends tingles down Zuko's spine. 

"Yeah," Sokka draws Zuko close to him, his arm snug against Zuko's hip, his head resting upon his shoulder. "I miss her, but then I remember she never really left." 

And Zuko knows what he means. A full moon has always been kind to them. It is why Zuko had ensured their wedding would fall on such a night. 

He had never met Yue, not in person, but when the moon is at its brightest he feels her presence; like a comforting warmth that lights the way home. 

"She's happy," Zuko notes, for although the moon cannot smile he can  _ feel _ it in his very bones. His blood runs warm with it, with this brightness that seems to light up even the very darkest of corners. 

"She is." Sokka agrees. 

And then, in the very back of his mind, Zuko hears a whisper. It is faint, like the trickle of a distant stream, a drop of water in a silent pond, but he hears it. 

_Look after him,_ the voice says. _And make sure he looks after you_. Like the crash of sea waves, like the rise and pull of the tide, Yue is there. 

_ For as long as the moon is hung in the sky, you will be happy. After all, Prince Zuko, it is not every day that a spirit gives you their blessing.  _

And then, like a spray of seafoam, she quietens to nothing but a murmur, a song that only he and Sokka can hear. 

They stay there for a few more moments, bathe in the touch of silvery light and feel Yue's happiness wash over them in shimmers of starlight. Sokka's hand is warm against Zuko's hip, his touch is strong, safe. His hair, beginning to escape its bun, tickles at Zuko's nose, soft and silky. He leans into the touch, pulls Sokka impossibly closer to himself, and they watch as the last remaining lights of the Fire Nation dwindle to nothing but silhouettes. 

The air grows cooler, the midnight breeze begins to pick up, and Zuko shivers.

Sokka's lips are warm on his temple, warm on his cheeks, warm on the line of his throat. He can feel the smirk against his skin, feel the way Sokka brushes his lips across the betrothal necklace around his neck. 

Zuko lets out a contented sigh, squeezes his hands on Sokka's hips, drawing out a breathless gasp. 

"The night is still young,  _ Ambassador Sokka, _ " he says with a teasing pinch. 

With a grin, Sokka pivots himself on his shoulders, pushes Zuko backwards ever so slightly. 

"Oh!" Sokka bats his eyelashes dramatically. "Prince Zuko! Won't you please give me a tour of your royal bed chambers!" 

That's all it takes before they dissolve into laughter, Zuko's hands insistent on Sokka's wrists as he tugs him indoors. 

The balcony doors are shut, the curtains are drawn, and the full moon is bright in the night sky. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope yall liked it,,,, feel free to validate me with kudos and comments bc i will love you forever
> 
> also my tumblr is ohmygoshwhatascream if u wanna come scream zukka stuff at me bc yeah thatd be neat


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